


Loves

by OurLittleSecretOkay



Series: Love(s/d) [1]
Category: Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson, 楽しいムーミン一家 | Moomin (Anime)
Genre: Awkward Crush, Cutesy, Fluff, Neither of them are functional and it's fine, Semi-autobiographical, They are just doing their best and you have to respect that, oblivious boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-09
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2020-01-07 13:51:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18411950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OurLittleSecretOkay/pseuds/OurLittleSecretOkay
Summary: "He smiles, the way that only Snufkin can smile, and his eyes crinkle the way only Snufkin's eyes crinkle, and Moomin's heart goes “ba dub ba dub ba dub” the way one's heart always does upon seeing their best friend."





	1. Spring

The song wakes him before the Spring. That's the way Moomin likes it; Spring doesn't matter before the song. But the notes are creeping in beneath his window, and when he awakes, it is with a flurry of excitement. 

_ Snufkin,  _ he thinks, barely taking the time to splash water on his face. 

_ Snufkin _ , he makes a quick lap of the house, kisses Mama's cheek without stopping, barely managing to squeak a greeting in Papa's direction. 

_ Snufkin,  _ he nearly trips over Little My, runs backwards as he apologizes, trips again and finally makes it to his window. 

_ Snufkin!  _

The name fits in his mouth like candied fruit, and as he climbs down his ladder, he shouts it for the simple joy of shouting it. Another tumble, and Moomin is rocketing across the lawn, barreling down the hill towards the little bridge where he can just barely make out a spot of green. Most everything is green now, of course. He likes to think that the Spring copies Snufkin rather than the other way around. The world would be a much better place if more of it copied Snufkin. 

He calls out to him again, reminds himself that his friend does not like hugs. No matter how badly he wants to, he mustn't pick him up and twirl him and tell him how badly he missed him. And so instead he runs to the bridge, hoping to let the exploding energy out through his legs, breath panting as he clasps the rail, giddy as giddy can be. 

Finishing on a lovely note, Snufkin pockets his mouth organ, legs swinging in the clean air. And he smiles, the way that only Snufkin can smile, and his eyes crinkle, the way only Snufkin's eyes crinkle, and Moomin's heart goes “ba dub ba dub ba dub” the way one's heart always does upon seeing their best friend.

“Hi, Moomin.” Snufkin tilts his head into the smile, and static electricity makes all of Moomin's hair stand on end. It's almost the same feeling as the Groke, that buzzing, nervous energy, but he isn't nervous at all, just a bit lightheaded from the run. He is glad for his name, for the way it sounds when Snufkin says it. Everything sounds better when Snufkin says it. 

Hurriedly, trying not to seem too impatient, Moomin climbs onto the banister, sliding beside his friend, his very best friend, knot in his stomach untying itself at the knowledge that they have another year together. 


	2. Lazy Day

It was a lazy day when Moomin decided to give Snufkin a present. After all, every time he came back, Snufkin brought plenty of stories and songs with him. It was only right to give him something in return. Moomin’s ear twitched away a buzzing bug as he stared up at the open sky. What he needed was something to make sure Snufkin knew just how good of friends they were. He needed something to make him feel appreciated. Lazily, Moomin traced the image of him over in his mind. The tangled hair, mud stained boots, calluses at the knuckle of each finger. Snufkin had such wonderful hands. Self-consciously, Moomin rubbed at his paws. Everything about him was fluff. Snufkin had working hands, hands that survived the open terrain. No matter how many sea cliffs he scaled, Moomin's paws would always be soft. For the first time, he realized how embarrassing that was. 

Maybe a gift for Snufkin's hands, then. A nice pair of gloves to keep them warm. No, Moomin hesitated. That would seem like he was rushing him off. And besides, if Snufkin wanted gloves, he would have them by now. 

Snufkin didn't like  _ things _ , per say. He owned only what he needed; even his special treats were sensible. The only gift Moomin could think of was another bobber, but Snufkin had plenty of those. Maybe some flowers? No. He traveled the world, followed the sun. No doubt he was used to seeing more beautiful flowers than Moomin could ever find, even with Mr. Hemulen's help. Closing his eyes, he tried his hardest to think, but found himself drifting off into images of southern suns. It made sense the sun was brightest wherever Snufkin was. Even the stars wanted to get closer to him. Maybe a star. He could get a nice giant lasso and rope one, so that no matter where Snufkin went, he would always be warm. He was sure if he asked Little My, she'd know how to go about it. 

“Moomin?”

He blinked awake, and the sky was a much deeper blue than it had been a moment ago. He must have dozed off. Sitting up, he rubbed his eyes. 

“What did I miss?”

“Nothing yet, if you hurry.” Reaching down towards him, Snufkin helped pull him up to his feet. His thumbs brushed through the fur on the back of Moomin's wrists and he shivered. Only remembering he ought to be self-conscious once it was too late to let go, Moomin dropped the grasp as soon as he stood. 

“What's happening?”

“Little My's found something.”

“Found what?”

“The bottom of a pit.” Neither Snufkin's face nor tone wavered. “Come help us get her out.”

With a groan, Moomin began to chase after his already running friend. 

_ Maybe a new scarf?  _ Moomin thought. No. No good. Harmonica?  _ Why would he need two?  _ He chastised himself. Something else with music, then. A song? Nothing he wrote would ever be better than any music Snufkin could play for himself. Well, maybe music wasn't it, but it was certainly the right track. Something that didn't have to be carried around. Something Snufkin couldn't just get himself.

_ I know!  _ thought Moomin.  _ A poem! A friendship poem! _

Turning back over his shoulder to glance behind him, Snufkin let the honey sunlight catch on the edge of his hair, highlighting the lightest spattering of freckles along his cheeks.

_ Yes, a poem,  _ decided Moomin. That wouldn't be hard at all. 


	3. Rhyming Lessons

Ear pressed to Moominpapa’s study, Moomin listened for the scratch of pen on paper. Only once he was certain everything was quiet did he crack the door open.

Moominpapa sat in his chair, taking a long, slow drag from his pipe. Papa’s pipe only sort of looked like Snufkin’s, and the smoke smelled completely different. Sniff swore he couldn’t tell a difference, but to Moomin it was as obvious as the nose on his face. Maybe that was the problem; Sniff had such a tiny nose. He’d have to ask Little My for her opinion.

“Papa?”

“Yes? Come in, Moomin.” Turning to look at him, Moominpapa pulled his pipe from between his teeth, setting it aside.

“Papa, you wrote poems, yes?”

“Once upon a time, much too long ago. Why? Did someone find-”

“No, only- I was hoping- Can you teach me how?”

“How to write a poem?” Moominpapa scratched his head. 

“Yes!” Bouncing on the balls of his feet, Moomin clasped his hands together. “Please?”

“Alright, if you insist Moomin. Though it’s been so long-” trailing off into quiet mumbles, Moominpapa cleared off his desk. 

“Alright!” Tail swishing, Moomin made an effort to clear his mind, ready to absorb as much poetic talent as he could manage. 

“Let’s see. First thing we’ll need is a nice clean sheet of paper.” Placing it exactly in the center of his desk, he straightened it. “Now. Next thing we need is a subject. What are we writing about, Moomin?”

Though he couldn’t say why, Moomin suddenly felt quite bashful admitting it was going to be a surprise friendship poem. Maybe it ought to be kept a secret, just for Snufkin.

“Oh. Uh… Spring.”

“Spring. Very good.” Moominpapa wrote the word “Spring” at the top of the page in neat letters. 

“Now we write it?”

“Almost. First we need to think of words and rhymes we might want to use.”

Oh dear. This was turning into quite the project. Moomin scratched his head. “How about… Sunshine?”

“Sunshine. Very good.” Moominpapa wrote it down. “Now, that rhymes with what?” He thought it over a moment. “Line? Twine? Mine?”

“Mine! Mine is good.”  _ Best friend of mine. _ Yeah, that would work nicely. “And how about ‘green?’”

“Scene. Clean. Queen.”

No, none of those were good.

“Leaf?”

“Belief. Grief. Relief.”

Better. Much better.

“Good, write all those down.” Moomin pointed to the page. “Now, what about ‘smile’?”

 

By the time tea was ready, Moominmamma had to go and fetch her boys from the office. Whatever they were doing, it seemed they were hard at work. 

Moomin barely finished his snack cake before he was ready to bound off towards the bridge.

“Can I be excused? I have a lot of work to do.”

“Certainly, Dear.” Moominmamma smiled. “Have fun.”

Papa chuckled as he ran out of sight. “Full of energy, that one.”

“You remember what it was like to be his age.”

“I certainly do.”

“What were the two of you working so hard on?”

“Moomin asked me for help with writing a poem.”

“A poem?” Moominmamma looked out towards the river where Moomin had been heading. 

“Yes. Got himself inspired, it would seem.”

“Is it a very good poem?”

“We shall see. It’s mostly just a list of rhyming words for now.”

“I don’t believe he’s ever written poetry before. Do you have any idea what gave him the idea?”

“From what I gathered, it’s going to become a gift.”

“Oh, well that’s very sweet! Did he tell you who for?”

“No, but he asked me what rhymes with 'fishing rod,’ so I could guess.”

Moominmamma laughed. “Youth is tricky, isn't it, Papa?”

“It most certainly is.” Rocking in his chair, he absentmindedly covered her paw with his own. “Doesn't seem so long ago that I was desperately trying to rhyme 'petunias’ to capture a certain lovely moomin's attention.” 

Mama laughed. “He's such a lovely boy. I hope it goes well.” Closing her eyes, and smiled, letting the sun-drenched air warm her fur. They were good boys, the both of them. Oh, to be young in Moominvalley. There was nothing like it. 


	4. Waiting and Thinking

Moomin sighed. Poetry was a lot harder than he thought it would be. It was bad enough thinking of what you wanted to say, without having to worry about making it rhyme. If this was going to be the best declaration of friendship ever, he needed to show Snufkin just how much he cared. Quietly, he studied him, hoping for inspiration. 

Snufkin's legs were crossed at the knee, hat dipped low over his eyes as he played. Moomin watched his lips move over the mouth organ. Snufkin had such nice lips; he was almost jealous of the instrument.. They crooked into a smile so easily, always amused, as if keeping private jokes all to himself. Moomin didn't mind that though, he knew it only seemed that way because Snufkin was so quiet. He didn't mind his friend's quiet; when you become really good friends, you don't always need to use words at all. The tune he was playing morphed into something unfamiliar, spinning off into a new direction. He was so talented. Talented! That was a good word for his poem. Quickly, he wrote it down.

“What are you working on?” 

“Nothing!” Moomin jumped. 

“Can't be nothing.” Little My suddenly appeared in front of him, hopping down from the tree above him. 

“Well it is, so don't you mind it.” Protectively, Moomin clutched the book tighter to his chest.

“What is it, your journal? Are you keeping secrets?” Indignant, Little My fixed her hands into fists upon her hips. 

“Not that it's any of your business,” his brow furrowed, “but it's not, and I'm not.”

“Let me read it then.”

“No!”

“Well why not?”

“Because it's…” he hesitated, “boring.”

Little My scoffed. “Boring secrets are still secrets.”

“No one said anything about secrets!”

“If it's not a secret, let me see it then!”

“Later, okay? Not until it's finished.”

“Oh boy, don't tell me you're going to start writing stories too? How many moomin stories could the world possibly need!” Interest lost, Little My bounded off. He breathed a sigh of relief. 

Snufkin chucked. “You should have known better than to start off with a mystery. Those are her favorites.”

“I'd think being a pest is her favorite,” Moomin grumbled, but he didn't really mean it. Or at least, not entirely. 

“So, what are you working on?”

“Nothing now.” He hoped his fur hid the flush of his cheeks. “I'll let you know once it's ready for reading.”

“Okay.” Just as easily, Snufkin slipped into another song, no more questions to ask. Moomin appreciated that. 

He watched the way he played, eyes closed, wondered how long it had taken him to learn what notes go where. Despite his best efforts to keep himself protected from the sun, Snufkin's face had darkened in the nearly-summer weather. Moomin wished he could hold his cheeks between his paws, count every single freckle dusting his nose. Snufkin was so wild, even his body reflected the night sky. Moomin couldn't blame the stars for wanting to get close enough to perch on Snufkin's nose. He liked the way it pinched up when he laughed. Thinking hard, Moomin made another note in his book.

The process of scrounging for words reminded him a lot of watching Snufkin fish. Hours of staring at still water, waiting for something good to come along. Maybe he could write something about fishing. Like that time Moomin had hooked something big and it took both of their strength to haul it out, only for their “fish” to end up being an old box of canning jars. Moominmamma had certainly been happy for the catch, but he had been sorely disappointed. Not Snufkin, though. He had laughed, finding the joke in the whole thing. In the end, it wasn't long before Moomin was laughing too. You can't stay sore when Snufkin is laughing, the same way you can't stay cold near a running furnace. He had the power to make everything feel great and special. Or maybe things were just more great and more special with him. 

Moomin closed his book as Snufkin jumped off the banister, meandering over towards him before plopping down on the ground and covering his face with his hat. Sighing, Snufkin crooked his arm behind his head, accidently resting his elbow against Moomin's leg. 

Moomin closed his eyes, enjoying the closeness. Yes, the world was a greater and more special place with Snufkin in it. That was certain. 


	5. Loves

Wiping his ink-stained paw on his leg, Moomin lifted up the paper to get a better look at it. No cross-outs, no smudges, no mistakes. Yes, it was done. Finally, finally done! Elated, he jumped from his chair, reading it over and over again. Perfect! Every word fit nicely, each thought in its place and every rhyme accounted for. Hair and stare, star and far, brook and look- it was all perfect! Bouncing in his excitement, Moomin allowed himself a little spin before hoisting himself up and out his window. He was delayed just a moment when he remembered he had neglected to sign the poem, but quick as he could, he was off again, brimming with happiness. The nervousness in his chest felt like the first day of Spring, the way it felt when he finally, finally got to see Snufkin again. He hoped Snufkin would like his poem, although he couldn’t see why he wouldn’t. He imagined Snufkin smiling, telling Moomin they were going to be best friends and stay together forever. Maybe Snufkin would even let him hug him. Who knew! With such a special friend, things were often a mystery. 

“Snufkin! Snufkin!” Moomin felt bad only a moment for interrupting his friend while fishing. 

Re-casting, Snufkin smiled, his perfect, perfect smile. “Hello, Moomin.” 

The happiness in him sang so loudly that even when he reached his friend, Moomin couldn’t stop his feet from stepping in place. “Snufkin! I have something for you! A present!” 

Brushing some hair away from his eyes, Snufkin looked at him. “A present? What is it?”

“Here- Wait, you have to put down your fishing pole first.” 

Pursing his lips, Snufkin hesitated. But evidently deciding surprises were more important than fish, he reeled the empty line back in. “What is it?”

“Remember when I was working on something and you asked what it was and I told you you could see it later? I finally finished and it’s ready and I hope you like it!” All his words racing to come out at once, he thrust the paper towards his friend. Snufkin wiped his hands on his pants before taking it gently, turning it around so that it faced the right way.

It seemed eight times the length of the longest winter ever endured before Snufkin looked up from the paper again. 

“Very lovely, Moomin.” 

Moomin hadn't expected a great show of affection. Not really, anyway. With Snufkin, you were lucky to get a silent head nod. All the same, his steady, usual tone made Moomin uneasy. 

“Do you… Do you like it?”

“Oh yes, very much.” Snufkin looked over it again. “I've never had anyone write me a love poem before.”

Moomin felt his face flush hotter than Mama's soup pot right off the stove. 

“No! No, I didn't mean- It's not a _ love  _ poem!”

“Oh.” Snufkin looked at him again, that same unreadable expression. “So you don't love me?”

“Of course I do! You're my best friend! And I love you in a best friend way, but not like- You're very dear to me-”

“So it is a love poem?”

“Yes! Er, No! I mean-” flustered, Moomin tried to gather his thoughts, humiliated at how entirely wrong this had gone. “It's best friend love. You know. Different.”

Snufkin nodded sagely. “No. I don't know.”

“What do you mean you don't know?”

“Just that. I don't quite understand.”

“How can you- Never mind, this was all a mistake. Forget it.” Embarrassed, Moomin tried to reach for the paper, but Snufkin was quicker. 

“I do not want to forget it. I want you to explain the difference for me.”

“The difference?”

“The difference between best friend love and love poem love. Evidently I don’t understand it, so I need you to explain.” 

“But you know!” Moomin threw his hands in the air, exasperated. “It feels different! It feels like- It makes you all nervous. And you want to hold hands and kiss them, your person, and you think about them all the time, and even when they're gone you think about him and how much nicer it would be if you could be with them and give them flowers because you miss them!” 

Snufkin nodded. “And which one is that?” 

“Girlfriend love!”

“And best friend love is…?”

“Different!”

“Different how?”

“Different completely!”

“I…” Snufkin shook his head slowly. “Explain it again.”

“Okay,” Moomin sighed, staring at his open, too-soft hands. “So. When I'm with Snorkmaiden.”

“Yes.”

“It feels like when we are all going out on an adventure together. Like, when we all go down to the beach after a storm or when we stay up late in Moominhouse drinking coffees together. It's a nice feeling where she listens to me and I listen to her and we help each other out when we need help.”

“And that's girlfriend love?”

“Yes.”

“Moomin,” Snufkin interrupted.

“Yeah?”

“What you just described is friendship.” 

“No no no!” Moomin waved his hands. “Friendship love is different! That’s the way we always look out for Little My even though she’s usually the person who caused all the trouble in the first place! It's knowing you can count on them and they count on you and knowing exactly what they like and don't like and everything in between.”

“And THAT'S how you feel about me?”

“Yes, but also no.”

“Why no?” 

Moomin sighed, trying to untangle his thoughts. “Okay. So. We're friends, right?”

“Best friends, last I checked.”

“Exactly! And see, best-friendship is different from friendship which is different-”

“From girlfriend love. Yes, you said. So, if that's not best-friendship love, what is? How do you know the difference between that and friendship love?”

“That's easy! Because when you see your best friend, your heart goes up into your throat, and you get so excited you can't talk, but you do anyway. And every time you look at them, you realize all over again that they are the most beautiful person in the world and you want to be their best friend forever. And when you're apart, it hurts, right here,” Moomin pointed to his heart, “and nothing can fix it until you see them again. And then you do best friend things like cook dinner together and go on secret adventures just the two of you, and you think about them a lot and when you're not with them you miss them, and sometimes you hold hands just to stay close, and when you do hold their hand it doesn’t matter what you think of yourself because they don’t mind the way you are, and… and… and…” Pausing, Moomin held Snufkin's quiet stare. His shoulders dropped as the silence weighed upon them. “Best friends don't do all that, do they?”

“Not… always.”

“I wrote you a love poem, didn't I?”

“A very good one, at that.” Snufkin glanced over the page again. 

“Ooh, how embarrassing!” Falling to the ground, Moomin covered his eyes with his paws. His best friend. He was in love with his best friend. He wrote Snufkin a love poem. A love poem. He had compared him to sunshine. Oh, how hadn’t he realized it was a love poem?

“What's embarrassing about it?”

“I'm so sorry, Snufkin. Just throw it in the river, please? Maybe some fish can eat it.” He had half a mind to burrow into the dirt beneath him and never come out again. It would serve him right.

Snufkin laughed. “Really, Moomin. Why would I want to do that? It’s so lovely. How long did this take?”

“Stop teasing, Snufkin! It isn't kind!” Moomin hoped he wouldn't start crying. The tears would only stain on his fur, make the situation all the worse. Best friend love. How could he have been so stupid? Again, he thought back to the first notes of Spring, of the way his heart somersaulted him out his window. Best-friendship. He was so stupid. Friends probably don’t dream about holding each others hands either, do they?

“Hey, Moomin. I mean it. This is excellent. You must have put so much work into it. I'm honored.”

Even Snufkin's carmel-sweet tone wasn't enough to make him pull his hands from his eyes. Maybe if he tried hard enough, he could disappear, just like Ninny. But then he felt Snufkin's hands on his wrists and he couldn't fight him when he pulled his hands away from his face. 

“Oh, Moomin.” Snufkin smiled with a laugh, and it was that same smile, but this time it felt like pity. “You seem to have things mostly figured, if a bit backwards.”

“I'm so sorry, Snufkin!” He was pinker than the raspberry fields, he was sure of it.

“You shouldn’t be apologizing.”

“I never meant for-” Moomin groaned. “Can we pretend this never happened?” To both his flooding relief and drowning sorrow, Snufkin nodded.

“If that’s what you want.”

“I think it’s best.” 

“Alright then. But, you should know that there's a fourth type of love you forgot about.”

“Fourth type?” Moomin's ears betrayed his curiosity, perking up.

“Sure. Let's see; you got most of them--friendship, best-friendship, and girlfriend love.” Snufkin tapped his fingers against Moomin's wrist as he counted them out. 

“What's the fourth?”

“Boyfriend love.”

“Oh?” Moomin tried to keep his heart from knocking his throat. 

“Oh, yes.” Snufkin nodded seriously.

“What… What type is that?”

“Well. That's the type where sometimes you sit out and watch the sky at night after a day of catching weird bugs and fighting off mostly real monsters. It also happens when you wait all winter just to see someone, and when you finally do, you get so excited that you feel like a hattifattener in a storm. Or when you're next to them, and all you want to do is keeping listening to their stories and poems. Or their silence. Whichever is needed until you're ready to kiss them and then sit next to them some more.”

“Wow,” Moomin managed shakily. “That sounds… almost like us.”

“Almost?” Snufkin's eyebrow quirked. 

“Yeah, except for…” Moomin trailed off. “You know, I don't actually know how people like you are supposed to kiss with such a tiny little nose.” 

There was a beat of silence, and then Snufkin broke out into the most hilarious laughter Moomin had heard in a while. Unable to help himself, he began to giggle too, the giggle growing into a chuckle, until they were both holding onto each other, laughing at one another, themselves, everything in the world. 

Letting go of his wrists, Snufkin placed his hands on Moomin's cheeks, setting his forehead against his. In a beautifully awkward flurry of motion, Snufkin rubbed his nose against the bridge of Moomin's. 

“How's that?”

“It tickles,” he laughed, cautiously holding onto him.  _ Don't hug Snufkin without warning; _ that was the rule. But no one said anything about kissing without warning. 

He could feel Snufkin's nose crinkle with his smile, and peeking with one eye, he stole a glance. Snufkin's eyelashes curled into perfect little teaspoon crests, his entire face involved in a simple kiss. Moomin could feel his hands against his face, his wonderful wonderful hands holding onto him, keeping him close. Not having nearly as much nose to work with, giggling Snufkin had pressed his entire forehead to Moomin's snout. Closing his eyes, Moomin smiled too, laughing as the brim of Snufkin's hat caught against his head, tickling his ears. 

Unfortunately, without a proper grip on his enthusiastic friend, Moomin toppled right over. Still laughing, they held onto one another as they both caught their breath. 

Chucking, Snufkin lifted his hat off his head, running a hand through his sweaty, pushed-down hair. It was at that precise moment that Moomin realized his poem didn't even come close. Snufkin's lips parted into a grin, the tight stretch of his smile making his teeth into the mouth of his harmonica. He was… it was… 

“I meant everything I said. You really are beautiful,” Moomin squeaked, blushing. A gorgeous red lit up the skin beneath Snufkin's freckles, making his face an evening sky. “Can I- Is it okay if you kiss me again?”

“Okay. But this time, we'll try it my way.”

Moomin barely had time to wonder what that meant before Snufkin was leaning in, and then his lips were touching his, and as amazing as their first kiss had been, this was a foreign intimacy and it seemed all the more special for it. Uncertain what to do with them, Moomin placed his paws first on Snufkin's back, then his shoulders, and then finally on his neck, trying desperately to figure out where to put them. Useless paws.  _ Oh god _ , he began to panic,  _ What if Snufkin thought he was weird? What if he made him uncomfortable? Is he supposed to just  _ know _ what to do with his hands?  _

Unsteady, Snufkin broke the kiss, and just when Moomin had decided he'd ruined the entire moment, he caught a quick breath, and then leaning down, kissed him again. 

And just like that, everything was alright. Or at least, close to alright. As close to alright as you can get while kissing your best friend/maybe boyfriend. Who cared, so long as he got to keep kissing him? 

Falling to his side, Snufkin laughed, stroking the side of Moomin's face before nuzzling their foreheads together once again. 

“You're good at that.”

“Thanks. I have no idea what I'm doing.”

Snufkin laughed, taking Moomin's paw in his own, clasping their fingers tight together.  “So this is- This is a moomin kiss, right?”

“Exactly right,” he laughed.

“You don't mind my ‘too-small nose,’ do you?”

“I think it's perfect. Was I- Did I do it-”

“Perfect.” Snufkin smiled, lightly brushing his nose against Moomin's snout. “Although, if you want, we could always practice some more.”

“That's very smart of you, Snufkin!” A cherry blossom opened in his chest at the gift of saying his name aloud. “You always have the best ideas.”

“Yes, well.” Pushing himself onto his elbows, he smiled, “I suppose I just have the best best friend.” 

“Oh?”

“Or, you know. Boyfriend.” Snufkin shrugged, kissing him on the lips once more.

“Boyfriend?” 

“As far as I can tell, with you, there isn't much of a difference. So call me what you want.”

Moomin thought it over a moment. “I think I mostly just like calling you Snufkin.”

He laughed. “That's fine. I can be just Snufkin.”

“Oh, good!” Moomin's heart spilled over with warm joy as they kissed again in the strange, little-nose way. Snufkin's fingers carded through the fur on his cheeks, and once again, all was right in the world. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not ready for the story to be over? Check out part two at https://archiveofourown.org/works/18435566/chapters/43671485


End file.
